down one muddied slope and up the next. Wil hung on desperately, wondering if the girl had lost her mind. At this pace, they were certain to take a fall.
Amazingly, they did not. Scant seconds later, Eretria wheeled their horse from the trail through a narrow gap in the trees that was all but completely grown over. With a surge, the animal sprang into the brush, then broke free along a second trail — one that Wil had missed completely in his trek south to the Hollows — and galloped ahead into the misty gloom. On they rode, Rover girl and Valeman, barely slowing for the obstacles that barred their path forward, racing ahead into the growing dark. What little light there was had begun to fade as dusk approached. The sun, lost somewhere beyond the canopy of the forest, sank downward toward the rim of the mountains. Shadows deepened and the air cooled and still Eretria did not slow.
When at last they did stop, they were back once more on the main roadway. Eretria reined the horse in sharply, patted the animal’s sweating flanks and glanced back at Wil with an impish grin.
«That was just to let you know that I can hold my own with anyone. I need no looking after from you.»
The Valeman felt his stomach begin to settle. «You have made your point, Eretria. Why are we stopping here?»
«Just to check,” she replied, and dismounted. Her eyes scanned the trail for a few moments, and then she frowned. «That’s odd. There are no wagon tracks.»
Wil followed her down. «Are you sure?» He studied the roadway, finding no sign of wheel marks. «Maybe the rain washed them out.»
«The wagon was heavy enough that the rain should not have washed away all traces of its passing.» She shook her head slowly. «Besides, the rain would have been nearly ended by the time it reached this point. I don’t understand it, Healer.»
The light was growing steadily dimmer. Wil glanced about apprehensively. «Would Cephelo have stopped to wait out the storm?»
«Maybe.» She looked doubtful. «We had better backtrack a bit. Climb on.»
They remounted and began riding west, glancing from time to time at the muddied earth for some sign of the Rover wagon. There was nothing. Eretria urged their mount into a slow trot. Ahead, mist curled out of the forest on either side, thin, wispy trailers that slipped like feelers through the gloom. Night sounds came from deep within the trees as the creatures of the valley awoke and began to hunt.
Then a new sound rose from somewhere ahead, faint at first, lingering like an echo in the midst of the sharper, quicker sounds, then stronger and more insistent. It grew into a howl, high–pitched and eerie, as if such pain had been inflicted upon some tortured soul that the limits of endurance had been passed and all that was left before death was that final, terrible cry of anguish.
Wil gripped Eretria’s shoulder in alarm. «What is that?»
She glanced back. «Whistle Ridge — just ahead.» She grinned nervously. «The wind makes that sound sometimes.»
It grew worse, a harsher, more biting cry, and the land began to rise through the forest in a rocky slope that took them above the mist, the trees parting to reveal small patches of blue night sky. The horse had begun to respond to the sounds, huffing nervously, dancing and shifting as Eretria sought to calm it. They moved more slowly now, edging ahead through the dusk until they were atop the ridge line. Beyond, the roadway straightened once more and disappeared into the gloom.
Wil saw something then, a shadow moving toward them, materializing out of the howl of the wind and the night. Eretria saw it as well and reined in sharply. The shadow came closer. It was a horse, a big sorrel, riderless, its reins trailing in the earth. It came slowly up to them and rubbed noses with their own mount. Both Valeman and Rover girl recognized it at once. It was Cephelo’s.
Eretria dismounted, handing the reins of her own horse to Wil. Wordlessly, she examined the sorrel, walking quickly about it, patting its flanks and neck to keep it calm. There were no marks on the animal, but it was sweating heavily. When she glanced again at Wil, Eretria’s dark face was uncertain.
«Something has happened. His horse would not stray.»
The Valeman nodded. He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this.
Eretria climbed atop Cephelo’s horse and took up the reins. «We will go on a bit further,” she decided, but there was doubt in her voice.
Side by side, they rode along the ridge line, the wind whistling its eerie cry through the high rock and the trees of the forest. Overhead, the stars winked into view, pale white light shining down into the dark of the Wilderun.
Then something else appeared through the gloom, another shadow, this one black and squarish and motionless upon the trail. Valeman and Rover girl slowed, easing their horses ahead cautiously, uneasiness reflecting in their eyes. Gradually the shadow began to take shape. It was Cephelo’s wagon, the garish colors caught in the starlight. They rode closer, and uneasiness then turned to horror. The team of horses that had pulled the wagon was dead, twisted and broken, still locked in their leather and silverstudded traces. Several more of the animals lay close by and, with them, their riders, scattered on the trail like straw men, torn and. crumpled, bright clothing stained with blood that seeped through the fabric to mix with the muddied earth.
Quickly Wil looked about, peering into the shadows of the forest, searching for some sign of the thing that had done this. Nothing moved. He glanced at Eretria. She sat rigid on her mount, the color draining from her face as she stared fixedly at the bodies on the trail. Her hands dropped slowly to her lap, and the reins slipped free. Wil dismounted, scooped up the fallen reins, and tried to hand them back to the frightened girl. When Eretria did not move to take them, he gripped her hands, placed the reins of both horses between her fingers, and forced them closed. She glanced down at him wordlessly.
«Wait here,” he ordered.
He walked toward the wagon, studying the twisted forms about him as he went. All lay dead, even the old woman who had driven the wagon, bodies broken like deadwood. The Valeman felt his skin crawl. He knew what had done this. One by one, he checked them until at last he found Cephelo. The big man was dead as well, his tall form stretched full length upon the ground, forest–green cloak shredded, angular features frozen with a look of horror: So ruined was his body that it was nearly impossible to recognize.
Wil bent down. Slowly he felt through the dead Rover’s clothing, searching for the Elfstones. He found nothing. Fear knotted his stomach. He had to find the Stones. Then he noticed Cephelo’s hands. The right hand clutched at the earth in a gesture that spoke of unbearable agony. The left was flung wide and closed into a fist. The Valeman took a deep breath and reached for the left. One by one he pried open the rigid fingers. Blue light winked from between them, and relief flooded through him. Embedded in the flesh of the palm lay the Elfstones. Cephelo had sought to use them as he had seen Wil do in the Tirfing, but the Stones had not responded to the Rover and he had died still clutching them.
The Valeman pulled them free of the dead man’s grip, wiped them on his tunic, and dropped them back into their leather pouch. Then he rose, listening to the shriek of the wind whistling through the ridge. Dizziness washed over him as the smell of death filled his nostrils. Only one thing could have done this. He remembered the Elven dead at the camp at Drey Wood and in the fortress of the Pykon. Only one thing. The Reaper. But how had it found them again? How had it trailed them all the way from the Pykon to the Wilderun?
He steadied himself and hastened back to Eretria. She still sat astride Cephelo’s horse, dark eyes bright with fear.
«Did you find him?» she asked in a whisper. «Cephelo?»
Wil nodded. «He’s dead. They’re all dead.» He paused. «I took back the Stones.»
She did not seem to hear him. «What kind of thing could do this, Healer? Some animal, maybe? Or the Witch Sisters; or…?»
«No.» He shook his head quickly. «No, Eretria,, I know what did this. The thing that did this tracked Amberle and me all the way south from Arborlon. I thought that we had lost it on the other side of the Rock Spur, but somehow it has found us again.»
Her voice shook. «Is it a Devil?»
«A special kind of Devil.» He glanced back at the dead upon the trail. «They call it a Reaper.» He thought a moment. «It must have believed we were traveling with Cephelo. Perhaps the rain confused it. It followed after him and caught him here…»
«Poor Cephelo,” she murmured. «He played one game too many.» She paused and glanced back at him
